3 Lives Departed In A Forthnight - Paul Walker, Nelson Mandela and Yeoh Quanhui

Paul Walker, 40. The good looking white guy from the Fast and Furious movies. Quintessentially Californian. That's all I knew about him. Frankly, I don't think I saw any of the films. Maybe some bits of no.1 and no.4? Never really appealed to me. After news of his death broke, I found out he had a teenage daughter. That was a wow moment. He died in a fast car, not so wow and a little insanely apt. Come on, everyone thought so. That's it. 

Nelson Mandela, 95. If you're born in the late 1990s and wasn't African, perhaps news about this legend may have slipped you by. His struggle against apartheid stands alongside what Gandhi did for India and Martin Luther King did for civil rights in the US. He resisted. He stood firm and soaked up the years of anger his people felt and spat it back out at the white South African government and their segregation policies. It seemed insane such a policy yet it stood for a long long time. Growing up I knew he was in prison. Robben Island. Prisoner 46664. There was news (in Singapore) almost every week coming out of Soweto. Beatings and shootings. It was bad, horrific even. I remember images of necklacing (burning someone trapped in a petrol soaked tyre). It stunned me how people so angry could do that to someone else. What was this apartheid? Why did it make people do horrible things? Mandela was set free in 1990 and went on to become South Africa's president in 1994. He retired later. I somehow felt he wasn't  ready for a long political life. He just wanted to help people. He said some pretty interesting things though:

- "No one is born hating another person because of the color of your skin, or his background, or his religion … if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love."

- "I do not deny, however, that I planned sabotage. I did not plan it in a spirit of recklessness nor because I have any love of violence. I planned it as a result of a calm and sober assessment of the political situation that had arisen after many years of tyranny, exploitation and oppression of my people by the Whites."

- "Having resentment against someone is like drinking poison and thinking it will kill your enemy." 

- "We know too well our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians." 

Thank you for your sacrifices and  letting us believe in something better. 

Yeoh Quanhui, 30 something. Quanhui was a girl I met in NTU. She joined my hostel I can't remember when, 1998 maybe. She was a junior and she definitely too part in the orientation camp. She was in my hall threatre group Hexis when we did the pirate musical. I remember her bubbly nature, always cheerful and smiling, a positive disposition. We were acquaintances rather than friends and it was mostly a hi and bye relationship. I bet she made some good friends in uni, given her amiable self and good nature. Earlier this week, I got a Facebook message that we passed away. Cancer. It is news like this that gets your heart and mind in a weird tizzy. Someone you know and met has died. It is not something one can dismiss or compartmentalise so easily. It also quickly grounds you to the reality of existence. It is beautiful but fragile. It is cliche to say every moment should be lived to the fullest. Isn't that the truth though? How lucky are you to be living and breathing? Maybe we would not know because we cannot know the opposite. 

Quanhui's Facebook page says she married. I am happy that she knew a strong enough love to commit to someone. I am sad that her family has to endure her demise, especially for someone young and effervescent. I hope she was the same till her departure. 

I am glad that our paths crossed. May we celebrate her life and spirit. 

After The Riot We Must Reflect On Our Clueless Selves

I was watching TV, We Bought A Zoo just ended and I was channel surfing before thinking about going to bed. A Whatsapp message came in "Riot in Little India". My reaction was whattt?! I flipped channels to Channel News Asia, perhaps the only other time I tuned to CNA after the local elections reports that I had done so. Lo and behold, pictures of Indian men whacking a bus, vehicles on fire, people running helter skelter. This can't be right, this is Singapore. But there it was, bedlam in the middle of town. 

I never really used the term "Little India" except to refer to the train station there. It's always been Tekka. I never saw the words "Little India" used so often before last Sunday night. 

Twitter and Facebook bore the brunt of the corresponding Internet frenzy and videos were simultaneously going up on YouTube as we gawked dismayed at the barebone news trickling from the TV. In fact, CNA was used the social media reports for their coverage because it hard to get someone close to the ground. 

The videos were frightening by Singapore standards. Come on, these things are enjoyed on the big screen, not in real life, for us sheltered folks. A mob flipped a police car over. An ambulance sped of. Then a fire engine sped off. The same mob tried to flip another police car. Another car or bus was on fire. An ambulance was set ablaze. Projectiles were being thrown. It was hard to fathom this reality. Video

At about half past midnight I decided to turn in. I hoped no one died. There were unconfirmed news that policemen were seriously hurt. 

Details were clearer the next day. A foreign worker was run over by a bus and his friends turned fiends and wrecked the place. People were likely drunk. It seemed that the police weren't that prepared because it took them a while to quell the violence. 

What was more interesting was the online reaction. There were comments of shock, some of hope, others praising the police and civil defence workers, and some just racist with lots of finger pointing. Then there was reaction to the xenophobia, condemning the shallow and narrow minded points of view. With some expressions of disappointment and outrage. 

It all goes to show some Singaporeans don't quite get the reality of our situation. We need these foreign workers. That's bluntly it. How else are the nice buildings we live and work in going to get built? How else are they going to get cleaned? Singaporeans eagerly shun these low-pay high-risk poor-image jobs. These guys work 12 hour days to make sure Singapore runs like clockwork. There isn't any cause to malign them collectively. The riot was one incident fuelled by rage and alcohol. That's about it. These foreign workers don't deserve a blanket expression of disgust. There are always some black sheep. Every society has them. I bet that the drunk teens on Read Bridge at Clarke Quay could in no time ignite ferocious violence given suitable circumstances.

Another problem some Singaporeans have to defining racism. Some people think that mentioning a race in a negative situation constitutes racist commentary. No it does not. “The Chinese man broke a window”. That isn’t racist right? “The fat Chinese man broke a Malay barber’s window” is also not racist. It is a statement of fact. The action of the Chinese man may have had racist connotations or he just got a really bad haircut but we have no way of knowing that from this statement. Now this is a racist statement - "The yellow pig threw a brick at the lazy brown monkey barber shop." That's is a contribution from a Malay friend. When a race is described in derogatory terms, that's racism. So people were mixing up messages they read. There were of course arseholes who were out to blame Indians and foreign workers for this incident. The Real Singaporean website even published an article which I brand as borderline Nazi. It was extremely offensive but not profane. It would have been easy to be swayed by the arguments there and anyone with some sense who decry it as rubbish and incendiary filth. 

The other elephant in the room is the great divide Singaporeans, especially the youth, have created between themselves and the foreign working class. We are superior because we employ them. We tell them what to do and they do what they are told. We do not mingle, we do not share. We are better than they are because we have money and iPhones and take taxis. Sigh. Our prosperity has made us selfish. Our pride has made us uncaring. Our narrow-mindedness has prevented us from seeing foreign workers as people. There's no need to repeat the reasons why they are here. There are many reasons to talk about how detached we have become from reality, head buried in our mobiles, Facebooking and Candy Crushing. 

If these overseas foreign workers were to disappear now, Singapore would grind to a halt, our rubbish will pile up, our half finished buildings would stay uncompleted, people would not be able to go to work because they'd have to look after their kids, more hospital patients would die because there half our nurses would be gone. We are so reliant on them yet so distant and apathetic. 

A little respect, that's what everyone deserves. 

Violence is inexcusable. And those who were arrested will bear the consequences. 

Our apathy and detachment isn't excusable. We need to embrace overseas foreign workers as part and parcel of our Singapore way of life. 

#littleindiariot

Fly Into Changi Terminal 1 Canteen

I firmly believe all tourists flying into Singapore should make the Changi Airport Terminal 1 staff canteen their first stop. Forget about rushing to the hotel and trying to figure what a talkative taxi uncle is trying to tell you about some same-sex sex district (Geylang). Go to the secret, well, a little hidden, lift at the right side of Terminal 1 near the skytrain platform and Bengawan Solo shop, hit the B2 button and you will have arrived. A clean, robotically laid out array of multi-coloured (but mostly beige) tables and chairs in a large quadrangle lined by efficiently run food stalls. This is Singapore in a nutshell. Food glorious food at reasonable prices. There's a Yong Tau Foo stall where one picks dainty morsels of nibbly things (mostly tofu based) to be warmed in soup or lathered in sauces. There's a Malay stall that sells mee siam, mee rebus, kueh-kueh and curry puffs. The sardine puffs are da bomb. (Whoops, not quite appropriate words for an airport related post.). I've tried the shrimp dumplings from the wantan noodle shop. Not too shabby. They need to go with sambal and pickled green chili. The soup they're in is perhaps embellished with MSG I suspect. There's of course the coffee stall where tourists must must must attempt to learn the difference between Kopi-o, Teh-si and other colloquialisms. (The first time is always the hardest.) Oh there's kaya butter toast too. And soft-boiled eggs. At the far end, there's a nasi padang stall with a perpetual queue. I didn't see any prata stall, perhaps the only glitch in the tale of superb delights alongside the world's busiest tarmac. It'd be miracle if a person spends more than $5-6 on a meal here. It's the most economical place to eat at the airport. Ok, cheap. Not the prettiest but this is the true Singapore food at its most convenient. There's a famous mee goreng at the Terminal 2 canteen but that's hard to get to through the carpark. We don't want tourists to get run over before they fill up on local fare. Yup, Changi Airport T1 canteen, so happening, so underappreciated. Someone tell Tripadvisor. 

Three New Things I Tried

Three new things I tried last weekend: 

1. Uber - this is a limousine service. My office manage to procure a promo code which allowed me to partake upon a free Uber ride. There's an app to download and it's pretty and nifty. There's a map that shows where the cars are, an indicator for how many minutes a car would take to get to you, and even the driver's contact details. The creepy bit is the credit card info one has to submit. I took a ride from Potong Pasir MRT to Valley Pt. The Uber app indicated that the journey could cost between $28 and $32. Hefty price to pay for most. The taxi came. A spanking new and clean Toyota Alphard. The driver was Kamsani who explained to me that he worked for Hertz and Uber lets Hertz plug in their idle inventory to make rides and happier customers possible. Wow. Smart idea. The ride was mucho comfortable and I was late for yoga anyway, so no stress. No money was exchanged at the end of the trip, just pleasantries. Uber sent me an email receipt - $31.88 the ride 10km ride would have cost me. Interesting. Try them out Uber Singapore 

2. Since I was late for yin class, I decided to join the Pilates class staring 45 mins later. Haven't tried it before and wasn't sure what to expect. I've fleetingly glanced at other Pilates proponents flail, flounder and flap about on the floor. Someone told me it was easy but his body hurt in places he didn't know existed the next day. Well well. The instructor seemed to be a petite Chinese or Japanese woman who spoke in mildly accented English, a mix of Mainland Chinese and Singlish roots. I couldn't ascertain this but this was not the main cause of worry. I sucked at Pilates. The initial poses were ok until they were strained and held. Then I was fumbling on the balancing poses. Then I was miserable on the floor with leg raises and crunches. It hurt and hurt. Aaargh. The instructor came around and told me to suck my stomach in during an awkward leg raise. Yikes. Overall a not so enjoyable time. Pain, agony and emotional distress from personal failure. Hopelessness, despair, the works. But I should go back. My core strength evidently isn't up to par. Maybe this Saturday, I'll miss another yin class accidentally on purpose. Affinity Yoga. 

3. After Pilates, I scooted off to a friends pseudo housewarming. She bought a flat in Bedok and spruced it up nicely. Myself and the associated group of talkative troublemakers roundly gathered at her abode to rummage and plunder. No lah, eat and drink. And a main part of the fabulous eats was Pezzo pizza. Omg. We had an ikan bilis sambal and a chicken pesto pizzas. Omg, so good the sambal pizza. I had 4 slices I think. The pesto was a little bland for me. Nice but not wow-worthy as the sambal. I want to try the chicken tuscany and spinach pesto pizzas next. iYou need to check them out. Pezzo Pizza.

Dubai Or Not Dubai

I was recently on a work trip to Dubai, my first to that city. Over the course of 3 nights and 2 days, we went around the city and of course, did some work and discovered bits and pieces of this gem in the Persian Gulf. But as I landed on the plane back home, I felt compelled to write this little rant about why Singapore is better than Dubai. 

1. The airport immigration at DXB sucks. We got in at peak hour about 6pm and proceeded to wait an hour to get through customs. When it was my turn, the machine wouldn't read my passport. The guy tried a few times before handing me off to another counter. Maybe it was a one-off but the wait was exasperating. And guess what, we waited 40 minutes to clear customs on the way out! Come on, twice?! The only positive I could eke out was that the queues weren't right next to each other. People might have passed out being that close to one another. Singapore airport immigration is pretty chop-chop. 

2. The city's colour scheme is mostly sand and concrete. It's a little boring during the day. My Dubai agency friend felt the same, that the colours of the city were best experienced in night time neon and sparkle. The whole Palm area seems to be made of the same sand. A little variety would stop things being too generic. The building designs are great but nothing sticks out like the Burj Khalifa. The Singapore city skyline is a kaleidoscope of shape, size and colour. It dissipates a certain vibrancy. I didn't get that from Dubai. Certainly the WOW factor but not anything more to the big picture. 

3. There seems to be nothing old in Dubai besides some people. In their hurry to modernise maybe the city planners didn't think about keeping some heritage prominent. There many fancy office buildings and malls but nothing quaint and historic to remind one of the past. I saw some mosques, maybe 3 or 4, with their minarets and crescent moons perched above. That's it. There's thankfully a better mix in Singapore. Maybe we were 'lucky enough' to have a colonial past and European style buildings and city planners that had paid attention to history lessons. The mix of old and new lends character to my island nation. 

4. It's all malls in Dubai. They are huge and monstrous. They swallow you up and you get lost in the belly of the beast. It envelopes you and doesn't want to let go. Everyone runs to the malls here. I'm not a shopper so I wasn't too excited to check out one mall after the other. Good thing our friend guide knew and took us to some attractions within the malls - the huge aquarium in Dubai Mall and Dubai Ski at Mall Of The Emirates. I don't know if things are cheap or at a bargain. The girls might know better. The stuffed camel and other trinkets I purchased weren't exactly rock-bottom priced. 

5. I don't know if this is true but I sense a great deal of hedonism in Dubai. The malls with high-end brands, the big fast cars, the fat main Sheikh Zayed Road with 7 or 8 lanes, the billboards with displays of ostentation - they just bother me. Maybe it's also because no one but the tourists pay tax. Not many seem to care about cost of water or electricity or oil. Glam is the way to go whatever the cost. I wonder if there is an environmental awareness program in place. The hotel I was in had a towel reuse sign. Maybe life isn't as hard there and folks are just milking it. In Singapore, we're reminded about our water and electricity use, and made to pay for these essentials. 

6. The sand is just everywhere. 

7. There isn't enough green going around. The beach area around the Westin is lush with foliage while the rest of Dubai is concrete and sand. It'll make the city more hospitable if more trees were planted where people lived and worked. 

That's it I think. Here are four reasons why Dubai rocks. 

1. Service culture is great. The shop and restaurant staff I encountered  were friendly, accommodating, patient and in some cases funny. 

2. There's a bit of an "anything is possible" attitude. It about confidence, creativity and excitement.   

3. There's a traffic law where the authorities impounded the offending vehicle for a month at a cost to the owner. Punishment! Also they have SMS based parking fares that go into  the driver's phone bill while in Singapore we tear appear coupons. Lame lah. 

4. The breads, humus, fattoush and tabbouleh are awesome. Omnomnomnom burp! Oh, mint in lemonade is brilliant. 

I Just Wanna Go Home

There are so many issues with Singapore's taxi system that it'll hopefully boggle the LTA folks when they try to "simplify" things. Good luck. I got one if my peeves about taxi fares published in the Straits Times today (snippet right at the bottom) about different fare jumps between regular and premium taxis. But the key thing I guess the gahmen fails to realise is that the current system makes us all unhappy. Seriously unhappy. When we want a taxi, they're never around. Sometimes when you call to book one, you can't get one. So all the money we make can't get us a ride home or to work or to the airport. Or yoga in my case. I waited 40 minutes roadside last week, having given myself an hour to get to class. So my opportunity cost went up in smoke as the longer I waited, the later I would be to class and yet more likely I would get a taxi. I almost went home. I eventually missed 10 minutes of breathing and stretching. I should have just taken a train. I get more upset when I want to take a cab home from working late. They whizz by like nobody's business waiting for a booking to come in to make the additional $3 fare. Customers simply gawk jaws dropped at green lights on blue bodies escaping their reach. How are Singaporeans supposed to live happier lives and have more kids when they can't even get home easily after a long work day? It's just ridiculous. Attitudes tied to profit. The hardest to fix. Have I complained about this before? Well probably.

Writing From An Army Bed

I am lying on my bed in my army bunk in my second week of reservist training. I have showered and powdered my self to comfortably feel at ease. My feet and shins itch though from the unease if being in tight socks encased in snug boots for a good 16 hours. It is 1043pm. There aren't many thoughts running through my head. I am a little tired though perhaps not from any physical strain. There was a bit of to and fro with helping the management plan their activities and recruit understudies. I am hopefully in my final year here having recently turned the ripe old age of 39. The planning help I render requires a bit of brain power - some EQ, some IQ, a little creativity and sometimes sheer determination and steadfastness and a smidgen of sell-in. Otherwise there are templates. I co-opted a few wannabes into this mess hoping they might want to carry on with this next time around. I don't know, maybe I have led them into greater misery. Outside there maybe regular physical stress and manual labour. Here's a semi-cushy time in air-conditioned rooms facing captains and colonels testing their whims and fancies, watching military management runs its course, drawing and typing and measuring and listening. I'll ask them tomorrow. And tomorrow we venture out to the jungles of Singapore, on a mission no less! I should get some mud on my boots and grass on my face for the last time. It's been a hoot folks. I hope to get some shut eye for what promises to be a roller coaster of a day. 

Back To Camp

I'm going back to the army tomorrow. For two whole weeks, I'll be in camouflage and hanging with a bunch of guys I only see once a year. I have met a few of them in 'real life' but those fleeting moments don't amount to much. I use 'real life' because in the army, it's not quite what people are used to. I tell people that going back mostly means using a part of my brain that I don't use at work. Or sometimes not use my brain at all. It's the army, so you just follow instructions. It can be as simple as that. Tomorrow I need to report in uniform with my field pack at 0730. Step 1. What happens next is purely up to my officers and sergeants. I'm in the logistics side of things and we're meant to support the big guns heading out to battle. Water, food, ammo and medical. It isn't as exciting as it sounds. Usually there's quite a bit of prep, a lot of waiting, some confusion, then a flurry of action, and then it's over. There's lots of cookhouse and sometimes canteen food consumed in between.  Out in the field, we'll have rations. I usually consume too many oversweet fruit bars. I also have a tendency to come back injured or diseased. The injury is back related and the last disease I picked up was a fungal infection around my toes. It happens. In addition to all these, there's a lot of silly conversation. I am looking forward to chatting about government issues, housing prices, car troubles, wife and kid problems, holiday plans, stock market options, people we don't like in camp, the old ways of doing things, the new gadgets we have, and whatever else the newspaper flipping throws up. I am not looking forward to waking up at 5am, the long journeys to camp or the work emails that'll pile up. This is the Singaporean life.  

Stuff You Learn From The Walking Dead

Lessons from watching three seasons of The Walking Dead over two weekends:

1. Tie up loose ends - When you've got the chance to sort things out, do it. If you miss the chance it may not only not come around again, it may literally bite you, kill you and have you resurrect as a zombie. Carl didn't kill the zombie who was stuck in the mud outside the farm and what did that walker do? Attack Dale. Morgan didn't whack his zombified wife wgo later ate her son Duane. One may be afraid to deal with the problem at the right time, but you gotta just pick up that rifle or steak knife, pluck up some courage and stare the problem in the eye before fixing it. Andrea should have whacked Philip's one good eye when she had the chance. Fewer people would have died and she wouldn't need to go through all that drama.  

2. Accept what cannot be changed - whatever it is, if you can't fix it, don't waste your time, effort, tears and energy to change it. Unlike a clogged sink, there are some inevitabilities one must simple accept and move on with. Like Herschel who kept his zombie wife, stepson and friends in the barn thinking there's be a cure coming. Nosirreebob. Just let them go or shoot them in the noggin. 

3. A zombie apocalypse changes people - It's an emotional roller coaster that's takes a mental toll regardless how strong you may be. Poor Rick started seeing his dead wife, his kid Carl became a stoic psycho in the making, Carol grew well hardened. Herschel's kid wanted to end it with a dinner knife and asked her sister Maggie to join her. Unfortunately, therapists aren't really readily available during the end of the world. So look out for the signs and talk to one another. 

People can also change for the better in times of crisis. I am speaking about Daryl. From redneck sonofabitch, he became a trusted champ at camp. He tried his darndest to find Sophia, and he whack so many walkers with his trusty bow and arrows. He just needed the right leadership to straighten him out. And when he had to choose between his asshole misguided brother and his new family, he eventually returned to his friends. 

4. There's almost always a way out - You gotta keep looking and figuring out the possibilities. You never know what ingenious solution that grey matter of yours comes up with when put to the test. It may mean ripping off a zombie's arm and using the sharp edge of bone to pierce same said zombie's brain. Daryl started hallucinating about his brother taunting him when he fell off Nervous   Nelly into the ravine, got pierced in his sides by his own arrows, and attacked by two ugly walkers, but that didn't stop him from trying to save himself. 

There are probably more insights but this is all the writing there's time for on this train ride to work. 

Winning At Mahjong

I tend to lose at Mahjong. I was introduced to this game by some good university friends who decided that it was about time I shun my inhibitions of time-wasting and mental anguish. They decided to teach me to play without the 'teaching fees'. This means we went through the rounds without any monetary wins or losses, just affirmations of the right moves or bad decisions. Ego boost or ego crash. But the illicit pleasures of gambling crept in soon enough, at low values of course. In fact, the current bunch of like-minded tile-tackling addicts I play with have not expressed any dire need to increase the 20-40 cents 5-double tolerance. Not yet. 

Competition aside, it's the peripheral activities that make playing the game so enjoyable. The conversation, the food, the drink, and even TV form part of the distractions to concentration. Welcome distractions, otherwise one gets too caught up in the supreme gambling fetish versus participation in the social buzz. The conversations go on about anything and everything. That is what I believe is the hook. Winning is great and losing sucks but being with friends, telling stories and random eating and drinking are the proverbial icing on the cake. 

So even though I tend to lose at mahjong, I don't feel like I have. Maybe this what old people want. Am I there already? Yikes.  

A Mad Men Snippet For Happier Living

While ironing I caught a random episode of Mad Men in season 5. The team was getting an award at some dinner. Megan, Don Draper's wife, had her father Emile there, at the same table.

“I always thought that you were very single-minded about your dreams and that that would help you through life,” Emile tells Megan. “But now I see that you skipped the struggle and went right to the end.” “It’s not the end, it’s the beginning,” Megan says. “This apartment, this wealth that someone handed to you,” Emile replies. “This is what Karl Marx was talking about. And it’s not because someone else deserves it. It’s because it is bad for your soul.” “Don’t pick at me with your politics because you hate that I love Don,” she says. “No, I hate that you give up. Don’t let your love for this man stop you from doing what you want to do.”

(Most of that paragraph came from another website, www.pajiba.com. Lucky me, not having to recall all those lines.)

Wow. Now that's TV trying to teach us something. Rare but possible, haha. Megan marries Don, and her dad thinks she's lost her spirit.

It's an important lesson for all of us, not to lose ourselves. We all have dreams of some kind or at least ambitions we want to fulfil. A hobby perhaps, something that keeps us happy, a personal contentment.

I remember telling my primary 4 class that I wanted to be an astronaut. Well that's not gonna happen but I would still like to look at the stars and get lost among the pin pricks of sparkly lights. A telescope would help.

Maybe not losing our dreams too much is key. Life takes us on the usual route for some of us - school, work, marriage, house, more work, kids. (I say some because who am I to judge your circumstances). Along the way we figure out certain things. That we like to draw, a nose for wines perhaps, a flair for cooking, a vision for origami, an eye for photography, a dexterity for number puzzles, hands and legs for tree climbing, musical fingers. Whatever it may be, an activity, physical or mental, that activates our happy centres. We should try to keep some bits of these in our lives, if we don't already pursue what some might say would be our true calling.

The Mad Men example I suspect exemplifies the sacrifices we tend to make as we jump into various life stages. Even love may prevent us from being at our fullest and oddly enough, happiest. It's scary but makes sense. My mum left her home and school to come to Singapore and had me and sister. I know she regrets not having spent me time studying than taking care of her family back home in Ipoh and then here. A childhood missed. She's pretty good with art and did some of my praised pieces in primary school. Well, we tend to figure out our regrets when we aren't in control of circumstances.

So do something. Today. Watch your kids and figure out their talents. Teach them not to forget. We need a happier planet.

Railroad Lessons For A Five Year Old

This week is my nephew's first as a five year old. Five is when kids start asserting themselves more. In fact, putting him in his place has always been a challenge and now his linguistic prowess reinforces that dogged determination, adding much to the frustration to the blindsided adult trying to teach him a thing or two.

I bring up this story of stubbornness because today he blew up over really nothing. This week I progressively unleashed the wooden marvels known as the Ikea train set upon this toddler. On Monday I gave him a basic two-train and tracks kit. It also came with a bridge. He was delighted. On Tuesday, I gave him additional tracks, surprise number 2. Today, got surprise number 3 - curvy tracks and another bridge. With all these additional equipment to build his railroad empire, he set about the usual way of joining the implements and then wondering why they didn't loop back around. He started to move furniture to accommodate his engineering whims and fancies. I told him he needs to think about how that can happen. This conversation happened as I partook upon an oatmeal, biscuits and dried berries breakfast and his Highness in the floor in front of the TV. I finished quickly and joined him. I proceeded to explain how the curved tracks joined up and what he could do with them. I broke up his existing linear display and proceeded to form a figure-8 with the new bridge in the centre of this new magnum opus. Quite nice if I say so myself. But then I am 38. My intention ultimately is for him to craft out a plan in his head and build that, so I started to break up my masterpiece which my nephew had already started layering on the rolling stock. He burst into protest then tears. He hit me with the dismantled pieces.

"You can build it again! Ow!" I urge while ducking. "No I cannot! I cannot build it again!" He wails in agony only a 5 year old can appreciate. It was as if his pet had died or Ben 10 got cancelled. Calamity of the highest order for a toy has been destroyed.

"All the pieces are still here! You have to use your imagination! Ow!" I plead. With actual tears down his cute cheeks, he screams "Nooooo! I cannot! I cannot!" He immediately reminded me of that failed musician character in Sesame Street (or was it the Electric Company?) that couldn't complete his rhymes. In the end of the scenes he'd go "I'll never get it, never get it, never!" while crashing into the piano keys with despair and melodrama.

Now my mum, the nephew's grandmother and self-appointed Defender Of Evil Against Kiki comes around to scold me. "Why did you destroy the track!? You got to work now!" "Come, Kiki, we build it again on the dining table" she goes to placate the little monster. "He needs to learn to build it again. He can do it" I went to which I received the antagonistic "Go away lah you".

Sigh. I slipped away to brush my teeth. The construction scene outside moves from the dining table back to the floor as my mum realises her notion of railroad design isn't as small as my nephew's ambitions for grandeur.

I come back out and lo and behold, a wonderful figure-8 track laid out on the laminate. Larger, more quirky and fabulous than my earlier attempt. All my mum did was guide the track under the bridge component. Lovely. Happy kid.

So I asked my nephew for an apology. For all the noise, screaming, emotional blackmail, threats to my being, actual bruising on my person and general mayhem that ensued just minutes earlier. Good grief. He threw daggers at me with his eyes. Life lesson part done.

Before I left home, I angled him with "Surprise number 4". He seemed genuinely interested once again. I asked him to say sorry. He did in song. I'll take what I can get, admist the realisation I was very late for work.

A World Of Service

Service, a word goes with "lack of" most of the time here in Singapore. Well it's the poor quality of service that riles us. We complain about inattentive staff, the lack of product knowledge, pushy attitudes and rude demeanours. Well, if you take a good look at it, we're never gonna get good service from Singaporeans. I blame the meritocratic system. If one is taught to differentiate menial, low wage jobs from cushy, highly-paid ones with the context of ambition and progress for the nation (as we pledged each school morning), we associate service jobs negatively, and by extension we treat service staff with a fair amount of scorn. They too sense the scorn and serve it up in buckets. That's why many service persons in the island are foreigners looking for a way up and out. They bear with our incessant demands, get on with their chores and perhaps feign ignorance at our requests when they are too tired for the sake of a paycheck.

On the other hand, there are service folks who are in for the money. Commission drives them to persist and push. Unfortunately, that's all that motivates them, not the needs of the customer. I have met many a salesman at electronic stores who couldn't be bothered to learn the products they were selling. They had no clue whether what I pointed at was what I needed but would sell it to me anyway.

I was in Tokyo recently and true to the myth, the service culture is pervasive, personal and perpetual. Service staff are generally very nice. Even a trip to the 7-11 is a pleasant surprise. It's a culture thing I guess. That aside, I think the Japanese generally do everything with pride, and deliver to the best of their abilities. With everyone putting in 100% and getting acknowledged for their effort. Nice!

I met Tony from Tilam King over the weekend when some friends drove over to the shop at New Industrial Road to get a mattress. Tony explained to me how the bullshit sales persons at big retailers were merely pushing big ticket items without a care; that anti-dust mite protection was a generic ISO fabric/material requirement; that we made mattresses with additional springs that reinforced the saggy centre; that he could custom-make a single mattress for a customer. Tony is awesome. He knew everything there is to know about this products. He even did a thesis on the industry. And a great attitude to boot. We talked about how customers feel about buying large ticket items, why some wouldn't let go of a bad mattress because it cost them so much, and why he was considering PayPal as a payment option. Now that's a salesman. I am definitely going back there if I need something to sleep on.

So we're predisposed to treat sales people badly, sales people don't really care about their customers, and there are some stars in the business of doing a business who treat customers like friends. Service, lets just be better about it.

Take Heart

So last December I did a medical screening. In fact it was Christmas Eve morning at the ungodly half past eight in the morning (the only slot available apparently) that I had to trudge myself over to the clinic at Ngee Ann City to take advantage of unspent money before year was up. Yes I was kiasu. It was a good 2-3 since a proper medical so I figured the additional effort wouldn't be wasted.

By the start of February I hadn't yet received word about my report. I sent an email and got word back that they had sent me an SMS about collection and a doctor's appointment sometime in January. Well then. Anyway, I set up another meeting and was back at said clinic the following Tuesday.

The lady doctor who saw me asked if the clinic had asked me to come down urgently. I replied no. She then went to explain what triggered her alarms. Apparently, my running treadmill test showed a funny line and they suspected that I had mychardial ischemia in a part of my heart. It's serious apparently. If you look it up, it means a part of heart isn't getting enough oxygen. She went on to cite my higher than average cholesterol count and my ballooning BMI. All else was fine. Well, a fattier liver. The doctor went to recommend a specialist at Mount Elizabeth hospital for an immediate follow-up.

So this blow was delivered to me three odd weeks ago. It's a lot of information to process. Suddenly from the glimmer of post Mayan. apocalypse invincibility, I was pulled into the shallows of death and despair in the form of a cardiac arrest. I overstate.

I called Mount E and asked about the cost of tests related to my suspected condition. A CT angiogram would cost $1600. I called Raffles Hospital and the same scan was quoted at $900. Hello! Who's trying to con the heart patient? A chichi CT at Orchard Rd is almost double that in bourgeois Bugis? Good lord.

I opted for Raffles and met a doctor who showed me a PowerPoint with Khaw Boon Wan and Donald Rumsfled heart troubles.

I did a 2D Echo at the same appointment - that's an ultrasound to check my valves. They went flip flap flip flap. Quite amazing.

My CT scan appointment was a little trouble. On the Monday of my first appointment I declined having the test done that afternoon in favour of going back to work and announcing my medical dilemma to co-workers to lift the burden. I called the hospital two days later to make an appointment and they could only slot me a week later! I was like what the hell?! I could kaput anytime and they could only check me out a week later?! Heavens to Betsy! Santamaria Lady Gaga Maria And The Diamonds! Hakuna Matata! But what could I do but wait.

I turned rabbit and cut meat out for most of the week. I still drank too much on Fridays. I started thinking about oatmeal.

I think the psychological impact of this news was more devastating than the reality. I woke up in the middle of the night a few times. I would wonder if I was having a heart attack and wait to feel if symptoms got worse. One night my left bicep was twitchy and the arm sort of went numb. Yikes! Left arm, heart is on the left, this must be it. I'm a goner! I survived the night and morning. I hit the A&E around noon time. They ECG-ed me and took some blood. I wasn't exactly nervous though. And the results proved inconclusive. I was fine. I did learn that the heart leaks certain detectable enzymes into the bloodstream that allow doctors to predict the onset of a heart attack.

The CT scan went fine though the I was cold under the robe. And the waiting after popping the beta blocker pill was excruciating. 2 hours of just hanging around with my restless heart. The beta blocker got me chillaxed though, because that's what it does. Heart calm, head going nuts and feet cold. A $1000 and half hour later, it was over.

And so we arrive at today, the doctor's visit to expose the truth. I also ate my first bowl of oatmeal this morning. Uurrggggh. The funny doctor called me by my family name which was weird. Smiling, he asked how I was. I replied ok and asked him how he was doing. He said he was smiling because my results were fine. All this in the reception area. The tests revealed I had zero calcified deposits in my arteries. That meant I would have less than a 5% chance of a heart attack in the next 3 years. Over the moon lah. The doctor went to talk about his cycling father and marathon running patient, both of whom earned his displeasure at their over-exertion. He said 20-30 minutes of walking a day is enough. When you knees go however, the inactivity means you have a 50% higher chance of kicking the bucket. Yikes.

We tried out the Azumio heart rate app I downloaded into my iPhone. The app put my heart rate at 64, the manual wrist feel and clock watch method struck 68. The doc gave his thumbs up.

So I'm fine. The doctor asked me to see him in 2 years, a note in my file that confused the receptionist nurse. I hope to never have the need to see him again.

I guess the worst part of this ordeal of sorts was second guessing that the running, walking and yoga wasn't doing me any good. I felt misled, by myself. It was unnecessary. Not that I should now load up the meat and drown in booze or throw away the Omega pills. Being unsure drove me nuts and I shouldn't have bothered. A little bit of faith in oneself goes a long way.

Announced! The Quick Zip Up North!

The gahmen announced that they've come into an agreement with our northern counterparts to build a high speed railway system between Singapore and Kuala Lumpur. Finally, the masses breathed. Bus companies probably got very nervous and the airlines knew they'd lose their most profitable route ever. But the masses, well, embraced the thought of blazing past oil palm estates in the blink of an eye, within two hours' grasp of true ampang yong taufu and black Hokkien mee. And relatives, of course, well, why not. But mostly it's stomach before heart. Weekends will never be the same again.

Ok this is where it could get ugly. The gahmen might site the Singapore station in Tuas. I can understand why (available land, an easy out to Malaysia via the 2nd link, a spark for further development etc) but good God Almighty no! At least Jurong East please where MRT lines meet. Or better yet Buona Vista. Even Punggol would be a better option. But Tuas? People would get lost just trying to get there. Taxi drivers could make a killing but will be reluctant to travel to a far flung location.

It would be nice if they transformed the old Malayan Railway building at Tanjong Pagar into the new high speed terminal but keeping all the retro architecture and facade, sort of like the St Pancras London Eurostar terminal. Cool but unlikely.

Well, now we wait. For the elections in Malaysia to be over and for our connected dreams of Malaysian hawker food in quick grasp to come true.

Say No To 6.9 Million People Event, 16 Feb 2013

Given that nearly 4000 people had signed up to attend, I wasn't surprised to see fellow audience members clad in black when I got out of the train at Clarke Quay MRT. The weather hadn't quite let up. I was worried that a persistent downpour would render the event fruitless, but gloomy skies with pockets of intermittent rain didn't quite bother the umbrella-ready crowd. At the station exit, there were many old men chatting under shelter and a sole MRT worker keeping an eye on things. I entered the drizzle and sauntered onto the wet grass, past the table selling the official 'No To 6.9 Million' T-shirt. There were clappers and bottles of water being distributed as well. I ventured further into Hong Lim Park, looking for friends (we would remain lost for a while). A good of young and old persons, mostly locals and some foreigners. Maybe even some tourists. The journalists with their long cameras and longer tripods were weaving their way through the crowd. I plonked myself somewhere in the middle, guided by Watsapp messages of navigation.

Gilbert Goh started talking a little after 4pm, thanking everyone for coming. One by one, the speakers would take the stage over the next 3 hours to make their points on why we should oppose the White Paper on Population Growth.

As I write this 2 days later, I recall Ravi Philemon talking about his kids not having opportunities in their homeland; a Cradius Tan (?) asking the government to place bets in casinos and not with its people; a young lady who we likened to Ris Low who talked working as a toilet cleaner for $10 an hour when she was studying in Australia; a middle aged Chinese man (who did insurance I think) who kept to the theme that our government and people were in denial. He made a lot of sense; a Malay lawyer who has 7 kids and expecting number 8; Tan Kin Lian who talked about welfare for the elderly; the charismatic Vincent Wijeysingha who expressed that this gathering wasn't anti-foreigner but pro-Singaporean, not against people but policy; Tan Jee Say was the last guest speaker and he was vocal. "Your Prime Minister has failed his country". There may have been a few more speakers but they weren't memorable enough to make this post.

I expected a variety of arguments. Some were logical, some fair, some seemingly baseless, some erroneous, some emotional to elicit an intended response. Even contradictory - someone talked about HDB flat prices going up and how that meant a worse future. Another speaker talked about falling HDB prices and that meant the same fate. Some persons talked about welfare systems in Australia and the Nordic states without mentioning the high levels of personal income tax individuals pay to sustain these measures, something I don't think Singaporeans are ready for.

There was multiple mention of xenophobia and that this event was not an anti-foreigner rally. Most knew what this meant but some choose to ignore it. There were frequent shouts of "Kick out the foreigners" or variations of that throughout the rally. These guys are dangerous. They do not see the right problem and likely are victims of policy that saw perhaps their jobs replaced with lower cost foreign workers or have noisy non-local neighbours. They are angry, and when you're angry, you say stupid and do stupid things.

The key takeaway for me was that the gahmen wasn't listening. They rushed through this White Paper without explaining simply what the aims were and it was easy for us to pick on a number to run with, the now infamous 6.9. There are fair points in the release but the one-sided delivery from high and mighty mouths overshadowed the weighty issues.

Personally, I don't want to live in a super-crowded city. At the same time, I wished Singaporeans would grow up and accept certain truths while developing their social graces. We have a long way to go. Speaking up is a good start.